


spent a long time running (from the mess we made)

by someonelsesheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Extreme Pining, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Pining, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonelsesheart/pseuds/someonelsesheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Octavia needs to stop turning up unannounced, Clarke should probably stop livetweeting everything, and Costia is not a marriage therapist. </p><p>(Or: Clarke comes back from a six-week trip overseas and finds out that her best friend has gotten herself a girlfriend.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	spent a long time running (from the mess we made)

**clarke**  @grifferz  
nothing says true love like drinking wine out of the bottle and watching shitty infomercials at 2am

2:43 AM - 14 October 15 – Twitter

 

* * *

 

It’s early Friday morning by the time Clarke gets back from her trip. She’s jet-lagged and groggy, but, true to her word, the first thing she does is send a group text to say that she’s landed. Octavia and Raven are either drunk or asleep, but Lexa texts back a photo of her in jogging gear saying, _Go to sleep._

Clarke texts back saying _I think you should take your own advice._

The bitter New York wind is a shock from the heat she’d become used to in Australia. She throws her stuff down in her apartment and collapses onto the bed. She already misses her mom. Abby’s house is large and open, the warm wind drifting through the balcony doors, the sea air brisk against her skin.  

Clarke’s apartment in New York is small and cold, because the heating’s been broken since late August and her landlord still hasn’t bothered to fix it. Her bedroom is a shoebox, with just enough room for a bed and a desk. She misses the days of living in the dorms, where she’d spent most her days in Octavia and Raven’s (marginally bigger) room, drinking shitty alcohol and watching shittier TV.

She plans on making some form of food, but the second her head hits the pillow she sleeps. She wakes up eleven hours later to the smell of bacon and wonders if she’s hallucinating. Or being robbed. By a really friendly criminal.

“Clarke,” Octavia says, dressed in an apron that says _What’s cookin’ good looking._ Clarke is certain she has never seen it in her life. “Grab the juice, will you?”

Clarke blinks into the sudden light of the kitchen. Octavia is at the stove, Raven has her feet propped up on the dining table while she reads the newspaper, and Maya is methodically buttering toast.

“That’s not my apron,” says Clarke. She gets the juice.

“Of course it’s not. I brought it from home.”

“What are you doing in my house?”

Octavia puts egg and bacon onto Maya's plates of toast and sets them on the table. She dumps the dishes in the sink and waits for Clarke to sit with the glasses of juice. Maya says, “We want to know how Australia went, silly.”

“Couldn’t that wait until, you know, when I’m not horrendously sleep-deprived?”

“We let you sleep for eleven hours,” says Raven. “Out with it, Griffin.”

“I don’t know.” Clarke chews on a piece of bacon. “It was hot. There was a lot of palm trees. Pretty awesome. I spent a lot of time with mom and her new husband, Marcus. He’s really nice. But you guys know that, because you made me livetweet most of it.”

“Ah,” says Octavia. “Those were some great tweets. My favourite was ‘what the FUCKING HELL, that is the biggest fucking spider I have ever seen’.”

“True poetry,” says Raven. “My personal favourite was ‘everything is so hot I am so hot even the wine is hot’.”

“That was a good one,” agrees Maya. She looks nervous.

Clarke glowers at them. “Why are you guys _really_ here?”

Raven slings an arm around her shoulder, wiping bacon grease all over her top. “Can’t we just enjoy your company?”

“Um, great. But I’m going to go by Lexa’s and see if she wants to grab lunch, because unlike you assholes _she_ didn’t have a play-by-play on Twitter.”

“Um,” says Octavia, “that might not be such a good idea.”

Clarke blinks. “Why?”

“Lexa is probably busy,” says Maya. “With, you know. College. Things. You should probably text ahead.”

“She lives in the apartment block next _door_.” Clarke snorts, grabbing her leather jacket from the coat hook. “Don’t stay up, you lot. By which I mean you better be out of my house by the time I get back.”

“Clarke, _stop._ ”

She ignores them, out the door before any more protests can reach her. She catches the elevator just before the doors are about to close and whistles on the way down. She gives her friends a lot of shit, but it’s nice to see them. Even if they _are_ a bit much when she’s jet-lagged and hungry.

The elevator dings, and she exits the apartment building. Lexa’s apartment block is just across the street. They hadn’t planned it that way, but it was nice to know the girl you’d been friends with since you were thirteen was just across the road.

Admittedly, when you were drunk, one road could be an agility course. But that was a story for another time.

Clarke crosses the road with relative ease and takes the elevator up to Lexa’s floor. She knocks once, but the door’s unlocked when she tries it, so she goes right in. Lexa’s asleep on the bed, but there’s somebody in the kitchen, and that’s how Clarke realises that Lexa isn’t alone.

The girl blinks at Clarke and smiles sweetly. She’s pretty, dark-skinned and dark-haired, all soft curls and bright eyes. “Oh, hey. Clarke, right?”

Clarke blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, you’re totally right, I should introduce myself.” She extends her hand, apparently not caring that she’s only dressed in underwear. “I’m Costia, Lexa’s girlfriend.”

Something bangs behind her, the elevator dings, and Octavia bangs into the back of Clarke. She takes one look at Clarke’s shocked face and says, “Oh, honey. We tried to warn you.”

*

“Do you want tea?” asks Costia. “I’ve heard so much about you. How was your trip?”

“Oh, um. It was great, thank you.” Clarke swallows. “I should probably go. I was just, you know. Coming to see Lexa.”

“Lex should be up soon,” says Costia, which isn’t fair, because that’s _Clarke’s_ nickname. “You should hang around. You too, Octavia.”

“I,” says Clarke. And then, because she was always too polite for own good, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Costia’s smile is like the sun, and she leads them through to the kitchen and boils the kettle. “Coffee or tea? You must be jet-lagged, right? Coffee?”

Clarke’s smile is grateful. She wonders if it’s actually possible to dislike Costia. “Please. Black, two sugars.”

“Coming right up.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Clarke clears her throat and asks, “So, Costia, how did you and Lexa meet?”

“Lex didn’t tell you?”

“She actually hasn’t mentioned you,” Clarke says. “Probably, because she. Um.” Why wouldn’t Lexa mention something _this_ important to her? Clarke was baffled. “Probably because she wanted to tell me herself.”

The concern melts from Costia’s face and she nods. “Ah, you’re right. We met through Octavia, actually. I do art classes with Octavia and she invited me to one of her famous parties.”

Octavia mouths ‘sorry’ behind Costia’s back. Clarke feels betrayed, a little, but it’s not Octavia’s fault. Lexa can do what she wants; it’s not like Clarke _owns_ her or anything. It’s just that – _well._

“That’s cool. Lexa’s great. Um, you guys are. Great.”

What is she saying? The jetlag is legitimately getting to her. She needs to sleep, maybe cry a bit. Or a lot. Lexa takes this moment to emerge from the bedroom. She blinks sleepily at Clarke before her face breaks into a smile and she says, “You didn't crash the plane, then.”

“I texted you, didn’t I?” Clarke stands anyway, meets Lexa’s bear hug. She squeezes her tight, doesn’t want to pull away. Lexa pulls back first, holding Clarke at arm’s length.

“You are so tanned _,_ it’s rather impressive.” Lexa’s nose crinkles. “I did not even know that you were capable of it, Clarke.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Lexa snorts. Her eyes skirt past Clarke to something over her shoulder – Costia. She says, “You have met, then.”

“No thanks to you,” says Clarke, in what she hopes is a joking voice and not too murderous. “You didn’t tell me you had a beautiful woman in your life, Lex – Lexa.”

Costia grins at Clarke, blushing lightly. God, she’s adorable. If she wasn’t dating the girl Clarke’s in love with, she might even like her herself.

“I wanted to introduce you to her properly.” Lexa pours herself a glass of juice just as Costia sets Clarke’s coffee down in front of her. Clarke swigs it back and burns her tongue, tries not to cringe as she sets it back down.

Costia smiles fondly over at Lexa, pads over and presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. Lexa turns her head and kisses her on the mouth, and Clarke glances away. She’s happy for her friend, she _is_ – she has never, ever seen Lexa this casually intimate with somebody, or so happy. But she’s only human, and right now she thinks she might be sick.

“I’ve gotta go,” she blurts out, pushing her chair back so fast it rocks and falls back. She flushes red and picks it up, shoves it under the table. “It was nice to meet you, Costia.”

“You haven’t even finished your coffee –” Costia protests.

“Sorry, gotta go, things to do. People to. See.” Clarke rushes out the door and trips over the air, because this is her life. Octavia catches her by the scruff of the neck and pulls her upright.

“ _God,_ Griffin,” she says. “Smooth.”

Clarke sticks her tongue out.

They walk to the elevator and wait in silence. It dings, and they step inside. The trip down is equally as tense and silent. It isn’t until they’re back in Clarke’s apartment that Octavia says, “I’m sorry, Clarke.”

“Don’t be stupid, there’s nothing to be sorry about.” Clarke shoves her hands in her pockets. “I’m happy for Lexa. She’s my best friend, of course I’m. Happy. That she’s found someone, you know. As a friend should be.”

“Riight,” says Raven, who’s moved to the sofa, head rested on Maya’s lap. “Wanna get drunk?”

“God, yes.”

* * *

 

 **clarke**  @grifferz  
the problem with being in love is that sometimes the people u love don’t love u back

3.12AM - 14 October 15 – Twitter

 

 **clarke**  @grifferz  
but that’s life, I guess. Goodnight everybody

3.12AM – 14 October 15 – Twitter

 

 **Raven Reyes** @raaven  
u ok juliet? did ur romeo run off with mercutio

3.15AM- 14 October 15 – Twitter

 

 **clarke** @grifferz  
fuck u raven honestly

3.19AM - 14 October 15 – Twitter

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke spends a week moping around the apartment, feeling sorry for herself, and eating a lot of noodles. She goes out twice, once for more noodles and the other time to put the trash out. She starts to _smell_ like noodles, which is probably a terrible sign.

The Monday morning back from break, Clarke has a 9am class. When her alarm starts blaring, she stares at the ceiling for a very long moment and considers not going. This morning is Political Science, the only class she has with Lexa. Hell, she only chose it because Lexa was nagging her and she had a spare space.

How she got herself into these situations she had no clue.

She drags herself out of bed, has dry toast and two cups of coffee, and then stares at the wall for a while. This has to be stop. If it continues for any longer, her friends are going to stage an intervention. _That_ won’t be a pretty sight.

She showers, does her make-up, grabs her bag and leaves before she can second-guess herself. Lexa is her _best friend._ She’s just dating somebody. It’s not the end of the world. Not at all.

(Even if it might feel like it.)

She stumbles into the class with two minutes to spare and collapses on the seat beside Lexa, who is, of course, already set up. She probably has been for the last fifteen minutes. Lexa _soaks_ this political shit up, it would be sickening if it wasn’t so cute.

Lexa says, “You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Lex, for that vote of confidence.” Clarke thinks _Lex_ and cringes. Okay, maybe this isn’t as easy as she thought. “I _feel_ terrible.”

“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a week, and Octavia says that she hasn’t either.”

 _Traitor._ “I’ve been recovering. From jetlag.”

“For the whole week?”

“Let’s not talk about this.”

“Is this about Costia, Clarke? Because I thought you would be happy. You are always nagging at me to meet new people.”

“Yeah, sure,” Clarke says, a little harshly. “If she’s so great, though, why the hell didn’t you _mention_ her to me?”

Lexa stares at her. “I told you, I wanted you two to meet in person properly.”

“Why? So I could –” Clarke cuts herself off. “Forget about it. Let’s talk about something else.”

Lexa looks at her strangely, but she asks Clarke about her trip anyway. For once, Clarke is actually grateful to talk about the huge fucking spiders.

*

They meet at thirteen, fresh-faced and terrified of the world. At least, Lexa is; Clarke is brash and ready to seize it by the balls, which terrifies Lexa even more. It’s strange, because they don’t seem like the type that should go well together, but they always have.

Lexa was there when Finn Collins invited her to prom and she spilt punch down his suit; she was there when Clarke’s dad died; she was there when Clarke kissed Finn Collins at sixteen, and she was there when Clarke broke up with him at seventeen, emotionally exhausted and crying into Lexa’s shoulder.

Lexa’s always been there, except –

Except Clarke broke up with Finn Collins because she was in love with her best friend, and now she’s twenty-one and she still hasn’t told Lexa the truth.

So Clarke can’t really be mad at Lexa (even though she wants to be, God, she wants) because this is all her fault. Because she was too scared to Lexa the truth. Because she’s a coward.

Because, no matter how hard she tries, she can’t bring herself to resent Lexa. And that’s the worst part of all.

*

The Friday after, Lexa comes over and they watch nature documentaries. It’s a past time of theirs. Lexa loves the ones with gore, and has a strange affinity for David Attenborough. Clarke doesn’t ask. She doesn’t want to know.

They fall asleep on the sofa, Clarke’s head resting on Lexa’s shoulder, Lexa’s lips on her hair. Lexa whispers, “Sweet dreams, Griffin,” and Clarke tries not think about dreams, about this, about how nothing feels more aligned than when she’s in Lexa’s arms.

* * *

 

 **Octavia** @taviab

Just found the photos from Clarke’s eighteenth. There’s a lot of nudity

12.15PM - 23 October 15 – Twitter

 

 **Raven Reyes** @raaven  
omg do you have the ones fm strip poker where clarke’s just gawking at lexa’s ass

12.18PM – 23 October 15 – Twitter

 **  
Octavia** @taviab

Duh. I’ll e-mail you them

12.20PM - 23 October 15 – Twitter

 

 **clarke** **@** grifferz

I hate you both

12.34PM – 23 October 15 – Twitter

 

* * *

 

On the first day of November, Costia invites Clarke over for dinner.

Clarke stares the text for a long time. She would ask Costia how she even got Clarke’s number, but of course she knows. Does Lexa do this to purposely hurt her?

No, Lexa just wants Clarke to like her girlfriend. Which Clarke is making pretty fucking difficult.

God, she’s a terrible friend.

So she goes. Because she doesn’t _want_ to be a terrible friend.

It turns out alright, because Clarke drags along Octavia and Bellamy, who happened to be Octavia’s apartment when Clarke turned up, and Bellamy knows just how to get everybody drunk and relaxed. It’s both a beautiful and terrible thing.

Things go relatively fine through dinner, but afterwards Octavia suggests shots, Costia agrees cheerfully, and suddenly everybody’s very very drunk and Clarke is very very fucked.

“Oh my God, that time at Lexa’s parents’ anniversary party,” says Octavia, “when Clarke offered to play strip poker with Lexa’s mom and she _agreed._ ”

Lexa looks like she might be questioning her choice in friends. “Let us not discuss that.”

“Aw, Lexa’s just upset ‘cause her mom managed to get Clarke naked and she didn’t,” says Bellamy, taking a swig of his beer.

Everybody laughs but Clarke and Lexa, who both go a little pale.

Costia says, cocking an eyebrow, “I _knew_ something went on between you two! Lex would never tell me.”

“Nothing _happened_ ,” says Lexa at the same time that Clarke says, “Um, we’re just friends.”

Bellamy snorts, and there’s this look on Costia’s face. Clarke thinks _shit._

“I’m going to go get some air,” she says, and all but runs from the room. She flees to the balcony, where the freezing air is welcoming on Clarke’s flushed skin. She leans against the railing and tries to breathe.

The door clicks open behind her, and she says, without looking, “Octavia, leave it, I’m fine.”

“Not Octavia, but it’s good to know that you’re okay.”

Costia sidles up beside Clarke and leans on the railing beside her. The words are honest, kind, because everything about Costia always is, but there’s a twinge to them. Something underneath. Costia lights a cigarette and offers Clarke one. Clarke shakes her head. “You smoke?”

“Occasionally. When I’m stressed.” Costia shoots Clarke a smile. “Don’t tell Lexa, she’d have a fit.”

“She would.” She looks out over the cars driving below. “I guess I never pinned you a smoker. You’re so…”

“Nice? Pure?” Costia snorts. “Whatever you say, I can guarantee you I’ve heard it before.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a good person.”

“Maybe. You don’t seem to like me, though.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just.” Clarke hesitates. “I just –”

“Can’t bear the thought of her falling in love with somebody else?” Clarke blanches, but Costia’s smile is gentle. “Don’t worry, Clarke, I’m not angry. Lexa is easy to love.”

“Do _you_ love her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” She drops her cigarette and puts it out with her foot. “I don’t know if I wanna get in between a love as big as yours, though. I don’t think I have any right to that.”

“She doesn’t like me that way,” Clarke says.

Costia hums. “I’m going back in. Are you coming?”

“In a moment.”

Costia nods with a small smile and slips back inside. Clarke stands there for a moment, tastes the smoke in the air, feels the ice on her skin. She wonders if Costia’s right, that her love is so big it takes up rooms, wonders if it’s going to swallow her whole.

*

The next day Lexa is quiet through their entire lecture, giving Clarke one word replies. The quiet isn’t comfortable – no, it’s _seething._ Clarke isn’t sure she’s ever seen Lexa this angry.

The lecture ends, and Clarke barely has a chance to step outside of the lecture hall before Lexa is rounding on her. “What did you say to Costia, Clarke?”

Clarke takes a step back. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“I saw you talking to her,” Lexa hisses. “And now Costia’s talking about taking a break, and I _know_ you must have said something to her. Why did you have to ruin this, Clarke?”

“You think I would do that?”

“I do not know, Clarke, honestly. You know how hard it is for me – to let somebody _in,_ maybe seeing me happy is something you cannot stand.”

“Why would I not want to see you happy?”

“Why do you hate Costia?”

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me about her?”

“Because I knew you would be like _this,_ ” snaps Lexa, “and I did not want to have to deal with my best friend hating my girlfriend.”

“I don’t _hate_ her!”

“So why are you acting this?”

“Because,” Clarke says, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “Because I’m so in love with you it kills me, and you’ll never know just how much it hurts to fall in love with somebody you know will never love you back.”

She leaves Lexa standing there, eyes wide, mouth open. She doesn’t look back, and Lexa doesn’t follow.

*

One week passes, and another. They don’t talk. Clarke calls once, when she’s very tired and very drunk, and Lexa doesn’t answer. She doesn’t try again.

* * *

 

 **clarke** @grifferz  
u ever just wnana punch yourself in the face bc u nknow uve ruined everything

2:43 AM - 14 November 15 – Twitter

 

 **Octavia** @taviab  
somebody get @grifferz off her phone shes drunk and hysterically laughing

2:44 AM - 14 November 15 – Twitter

 

 **clarke**  @grifferz  
fuck off marshmallow bum LOL #funnyjokes #funny #hilarious 

2:50 AM – 14 November 15 – Twitter

 

 **Raven Reyes**  @raaven  
oh my god @grifferz @taviab

2:50 AM – 14 November 15 – Twitter

 

* * *

 

“Lexa. _Lexa._ ”

Clarke has been standing outside Lexa’s apartment for the last fifteen minutes. Her whole body is freezing. She thinks her fingers might fall off. Why aren’t hallways heated? Maybe the posh ones are, you know, when they’re not in the ass end of New York. She’s dressed in a dress that barely covers her ass, and it might make her legs look great but it is not suited to _survival._ You know, in the cold depths of winter. In suburban New York.

“LEXA.”

She’s whispering, of course, because Lexa’s neighbours are _terrifying._ Mr Harwood, the rumours say, has two vicious parrots in his apartment. Deidre across the hall once asked Clarke to come in for a cup of _tea._ Fearsome.

The door unlocks and opens to reveal Lexa standing there in her pyjamas, looking tired and pissed off. “What do you want, Clarke?”

“Lexa,” Clarke croons. “Lex. Lexie. Lexa Lexa. Let down your hair. I’m so fucking cold.”

Lexa, because she’s a darling, doesn’t question. She steps aside to let Clarke past. “Come on, Clarke, you’ll catch pneumonia.”

“Would you look after me when I’m sick?” Clarke whispers back, fluttering her eyelashes as she passes.

Lexa sighs. “Come on, Griffin.”

“I am feeling,” breathes Clarke, “ _delightful._ ” She trips over nothing, and Lexa grabs her by the collar just before she falls headfirst into the carpet. That maybe happens a little too much.

Lexa leads her into the bedroom, which is a lot larger than Clarke’s. It’s cosy and warm with wooden floorboards. Lexa turns on the gas heater and says, “Get in bed, warm yourself up, you dumbass. Did you come right here from Raven’s party?”

“Of course. ‘Cause I _love_ you.”

Lexa raises an eyebrow. “Are you drunk?”

Clarke smiles innocently.

“Of course you are.” Lexa pulls the blanket off the bed and wraps it around her. “Go sit down and try not to die, I’ll close the window.”

Clarke obeys. The shock from very cold to sudden hot is not a pleasant one. Her hands are tingling. Her feet are tingling. Other places are tingling. She snorts. “I’m tingling.”

Lexa shuts the window and stands there for a moment as if she can’t believe her life. “You are…tingling?”

“You make me tingle.”

Lexa bangs her head against the glass.

“Careful,” advises Clarke. “You could hurt yourself.”

“What did I do to deserve this,” Lexa asks nobody in particular. She moves over to the kingsized bed and sits beside Clarke. “Why are you here, Clarke?”

“Okay, so Raven had a party for her friend’s birthday, whose name is Wick and he’s like, really sweet, and Raven really liked him, it was so cute. Anyway, so Bellamy was there, too, which is kind of weird but also cool, and there was beer pong and I kissed Finn Collins – can you believe it, Finn _Collins_ – and he wanted to have sex with me but –”

“Wait,” Lexa says, voice dangerous, “you kissed Finn Collins?”

“Yes, that’s what I said, isn’t it? I kissed him and it was alright, he's moving down in the fall and that is - it was nice, but all I could think about was that time in eighth grade when he spilt milkshake over your favourite shirt, you remember the time –”

“I kicked him in the shins.”

“And you looked like you wanted to cry and I just kept thinking about that so I pushed him away.”

“Clarke,” says Lexa, suddenly very tired, “why are you _here_?”

Clarke looks away. She feels dizzy, but not from the alcohol, or maybe it is from the alcohol but also something else and – and. Lexa looks at her, hair mussed, wearing her stupid pyjama pants with her stupid pyjama shirt. “Of course I came here. You’re my best friend.”

“Right.” Lexa lies back on the bed, pulling the blankets up over her. “Go to sleep, Clarke.”

Clarke feels strangely chastised. “Okay.”

Lexa flicks the light off, and there’s a few minutes of silence. Clarke listens to Lexa’s breathing. Finally, she whispers, “Hey Lex, you awake?”

“Oh my God.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“Clarke, you’re drunk, how much did you _drink_?”

“I don’t know, I feel _great._ ”

“You’ll feel terrible in the morning.”

“Hmm.”

Clarke flops over and cuddles up to Lexa’s back. Lexa lets her, at least until Clarke presses her lips to Lexa’s neck. Lexa shoves her back forcibly, switching on the light. “Clarke. _Go to sleep._ ”

Clarke considers this. “But I’m thirsty.”

Lexa closes her eyes for a long moment, as if gathering herself. She lets out a breath and says, “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Lexa fills up a glass in the kitchen and brings it to Clarke. Clarke drinks it back, eyes fixed on Lexa. She suddenly feels very sober. She places it on the side and says, “I’m sorry.”

Lexa is quiet for a moment. “It’s fine. You do not need to be.”

“You were ignoring me. You were scared to tell me you don’t want me, right?” Clarke rests her chin on her knees. “Just tell me. It will make it easier.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you, Clarke. You’re drunk, tired and it’s 3am. Let’s just rest, okay?”

Clarke looks at her dumbly. “You _do_ want me? Costia –”

“We broke up.” Lexa sighs. “She says, and I quote, ‘she cannot be with somebody who’s so obviously in love with somebody else’.”

“You…”

“I’ve loved you since you pushed John Murphy over for teasing me in seventh grade, Clarke.”

Clarke hugs her knees tighter. “I kind of left the party in a rush. Part of me really wanted to sleep with Finn, because he’s attractive and all, but I just kept…”

“Kept what?”

“Thinking about you.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“God,” Lexa breathes, and then she’s pulling Clarke into a kiss and Clarke is going, pliant under Lexa’s fingertips. Clarke kisses harsh and fast, and then slower, gentler. Lexa revels in the feel of it, Clarke above her, the smooth slide of skin on skin.

Lexa’s teeth scrape Clarke’s jaw, and Clarke moans. “I can smell him on you,” she mutters. “Finn.”

“Only wanted you,” Clarke gasps. Her fingers tug at the waist of Lexa’s pyjamas, and it’s so tempting, the soft press of Clarke’s lips against her neck, her fingers against Lexa’s hips.

Lexa pushes her off. “No, Clarke. You’re drunk. You’ll probably regret this in the morning.”

“I won’t. I won’t, I promise.”

Lexa shakes her head. “We’ll see.” She pulls Clarke closer and flicks off the light. “Tomorrow.”

Clarke sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to Lexa’s hand. “Tomorrow.”

* * *

 

 **clarke** @grifferz  
it’s happening 

10.23 AM – 15 November 15 – Twitter

 

 **Raven Reyes**  @raaven  
omfg @grifferz guess who’s about to be real rich @taviab

10.30 AM – 10 November 15 – Twitter

  
**Octavia** @taviab  
fuck @grifferz @raaven

10.30 AM – 10 November 15 – Twitter

**clarke** @grifferz  
:)

10.34 AM – 10 November 15 – Twitter

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me at dontholdthiswarinside.tumblr.com. i cry over the 100 a lot


End file.
